Rescue
by Jennifer Collins
Summary: Bucky's in bad shape after his first post-Natasha mission, and a familiar face comes to rescue him.
1. Chapter 1

It was his own fault, really. He'd been scolded over and over by Rogers and everyone else he'd come in contact with over the past month on how he needed to take better care of himself. Not sleeping, heavy drinking… hell, he'd even kept drinking after Fury had left the bar after convincing him to go out on this mission.

Now, he wasn't an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. and he'd be damned if he turned into one of Hill's monkeys, but Fury was different. Decades of trading favors and pulling one another from the brink until you'd lose track of who owed who the most meant that you didn't just say no to Nick Fury, especially when he'd always kept accurate tallies.

So now that he'd once again found himself lying facedown in the stink of his own blood, long after his adversaries had retreated, with his comm link severed and no way of calling for an extraction, he couldn't bring himself to be surprised.

On the contrary, the only thing that surprised him was the quiet sound of footsteps in the marsh. Judging by the position of the sun, which was now over the east, though not for much longer, he'd figured about six hours since he'd stepped off his bike. Fuck, his bike. They'd taken that too…

He listened intently, realizing that the sounds of the footsteps were rapidly approaching him. It was only one person, from what he could tell, though whether or not he could take that person in his weakened condition depended entirely on the condition of that person as well.

He turned his head to inspect his surroundings, figured that he wouldn't make it to more cover in time.

"Get up," a cool voice spoke.

He turned his head back, his eyes narrowing and his body tensing as he recognized the familiar spread of red hair in the wind.

"Relax, I'm here as an ally," she said evenly, crouching down slowly, flashing her S.H.I.E.L.D. badge.

"Yeah, right. That's what they all say before they try to kill me," he joked half-heartedly.

"Not this time," She said. "I'll show you my orders if you need to see them before you cooperate."

He raised an eyebrow. "This mission has already been completed. And I was under orders to do it alone."

"I'm not here to complete the mission. I'm here on strict orders to collect you. Now, if you'll please come along. My orders came from higher than yours."

"My orders came from Nick Fury."

She smiled a cool, tight lipped smile. "My orders came from Captain America," she said, unfolding a legal sized piece of paper in front of him.

He rolled his eyes.

"You're hurt," she observed. "Can you stand on your own?"

"I'm not sure," he told her truthfully, attempting to prop himself up on his elbows.

She tapped the Bluetooth at her ear. "This is Agent Romanoff. I've reached the destination and will need a medic for the target." She reached out a hand to help pull him up. "Shit, there's no response. My line's dead."

He nodded. "Mine too."

She frowned. "No matter. There's a S.H.I.E.L.D. safehouse less than two miles south of here. We'll have to walk though. My vehicle was attacked on the other side of this field."

He groaned as he let her pull him up, then wobbled once he was upright.

She placed two firm hands on his shoulders to steady him, noticing for the first time the wound at his side. "How deep is that?" she asked.

He grunted an answer.

"Take off your shirt," She said in her no-nonsense manner. "You'll need to put pressure on that." She reached out impatiently to do it for him as he struggled out of the garment. "Need to get you to a doctor," she muttered. "Can you walk?"

He attempted to take a step forward, the world spinning around his vision as a jolt of pain shot up his right side. "Dizzy…" he murmured, raising his metal hand to his head.

"Easy," she said, more gently this time. She moved beside him and wrapped a strong arm around his torso, carefully avoiding his injury. "Put your weight on my shoulders."

"This is gonna be a long walk," he warned, reminding himself to put one foot in front of the other.

"That's alright," she answered, slowing down her steps to match his.


	2. Chapter 2

He leaned his back against the wall as she inspected her key ring, trying to locate the one that would open the door. "Wow," he commented slowly. "Somebody sure trusts you."

She grinned, reaching out to guide him through. "I'm not all that bad," she said, sliding his left arm across her shoulders. She paused for a moment, eyeing the seam where metal met flesh.

He watched her cautiously until she met his gaze before looking awkwardly away. "Sorry," she said. "It's just- your arm… you remind me of somebody that I used to know, a long time ago…"

He swallowed hard. "Oh, yeah?"

She nodded. "I'm going to make a phone call to base. You should probably lie down on the couch until they get here."

He hesitated, shifting his weight off of her and grabbing onto the edge of a small book case.

She raised an eyebrow. "I've already told you I'm no threat to you, Bucky. You're hurt. You need to rest." She held out a hand to him.

He carefully stepped back into her embrace and let her walk him to the couch. "How did you…?"

She smiled. "Steve told me you weren't going to be easy. Just relax." She handed him a blanket. "I'll just make a call and then we'll get you some medical attention." She turned towards the kitchen, then stopped halfway to face him again. "I know what it's like. To assume that everybody you come in contact with is your enemy."

He nodded, raising his hands in surrender. "Guard's down," he promised.

"Good," she said, with a smile, grabbing the phone that was attached to the wall in the kitchen. She frowned. "Phone's dead."

He grimaced. "Of course it is. Looks like we'll be stuck here awhile."

She moved across the room in a few graceful steps, leaning down so that she was level with him. "Let me see," she ordered, again in her no-nonsense tone, as she untied the bloodied shirt from around his waist. "It's not as deep as I thought," she assured him. "But you still need stitches. Do you have any idea how much blood you've lost?"

"No," he admitted.

"Well, we've got to get that closed up before you lose any more." She stood. "I'll find the first aid kit and patch you up myself."

She returned a moment later, holding up a box for him to see. "There's good stuff in here," she informed him. "And I found a needle and thread."

He nodded slowly.

"Don't worry, I've done this many times before," she assured him.

"I'm sure you have."

"I'll try not to hurt you more than necessary," she promised.

He winced as he watched her sterilize the needle with alcohol. "I have a high tolerance for pain."

"Hold still. I've brought ice to numb it as much as possible."

He hissed when the ice made contact with his skin, leaning his head back against the armrest as he squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to think about her fingers brushing against his bare skin. She wasn't overly gentle, but then again she never had been before.

"Finished," she said after awhile. She opened a tube of medicine. "But we'll have to make sure that it doesn't get infected."

"You're taking this whole bring-me-back-in-one-piece thing very seriously," he commented.

Her eyes met his with a stern gaze. "I'm under strict orders to keep you safe, Buck."

"Right."

"You stay there and don't move. I'm going to see what we have to eat and drink here. "

He waited obediently until she came back with light snacks and two cans of beer. "It's cheap stuff," she said, slightly apologetically.

He grinned. "Does that really surprise you?"

She shook her head, popping back the tab on her can and watching him intently as he took a bite. "I will be surprised if the t.v. actually works though," she said, reaching for the remote.

She turned back when she heard a low moan. "Hey, are you okay? Buck?" Her eyes widened in alarm when she saw how quickly his skin had paled.

"I-I'm goin t' be sick…" he moaned.

She grabbed for the small garbage can that was perched next to the end table and held it out to him just in time for him to double over and vomit violently into the pail.

"Shit…" she muttered. She waited until his shoulders stopped shaking before she gently pushed him onto his back.

"Nat…" he moaned, his voice almost a whimper.

"I know," she said soothingly, smoothing his hair back with her hand. She frowned. "You have a fever," she murmured, sliding her hand down his neck.

"Don't…" he whispered. "Don't… touch… me…"

"Look at me," she said, cupping his face with her hands. "I'm not going to hurt you, but I've got to get your fever down. You have to trust me. I'm going to take care of you," she promised.

"Hurts…" he murmured, squeezing his eyes shut.

She leaned her face close to his. "What hurts?" she asked softly, her breath warming his cheek.

"Everything," he moaned. "Don't, don't touch…"

"It's okay," she whispered, standing up and backing towards the kitchen. "It's okay." She filled a glass with cold water and wet a dish towel.

She returned a moment later to find him fast asleep, his mouth slightly open. She pressed the wet towel to his forehead. "It's okay," she repeated to herself.

She gently shook his metal shoulder. He groaned in response. "You have to wake up, Bucky," she said.

"Sleepy.."

"I know you're tired, but you have to keep yourself hydrated." She held the glass of water to him. "Drink this and then you can sleep."

He took the glass of water from her, tipping his head back and drinking very slowly.

She noticed for the first time a small scar on his chest. "Where did you get that?" she asked, her voice a little shaky.

He frowned. "I got shot."

She sat down on the floor, crossing her legs and keeping her eyes level with his. "You got shot in the heart?" she asked, reaching out a hand and running her fingers over it.

He let out a deep breath. "You just can't keep your hands off me, can you?"

"I'm sorry," she said sincerely, pulling her hand back and resting it on her knee. "When did you get shot in the chest?"

He thought for a moment, searching her face. "Back in the war."

"That… sounds like a story I heard a long time ago. But you can't be him, can you? The real Bucky?"

He smiled weakly. "Well, I'm not the fake Bucky."

She rolled her eyes. "I meant original. You're the original Bucky Barnes? But that's impossible. You'd have to be…. H-how old are you?"

He struggled for a moment to prop himself up on his right elbow. "How long ago did you hear that story? How old are you, sweetheart?"

He saw something flash across her eyes then, but she quickly recovered herself before he could identify what it was. She grinned a playful grin. "Come on. You know it's impolite to ask a girl her age."

He stared straight into her eyes, not backing down.

The smile froze on her face. "I'm twenty-seven. Now you."

He hesitated. "I'm twenty-nine," he said with a sigh, eyeing her long enough to see the slight look of disappointment that passed over her face before she jumped up from her perch on the floor.

"I suppose I should refill your glass for you," she said. "Are you still nauseous?"

He shook his head. "No. No the nausea's passed," he said, trying to mask his own disappointment.


	3. Chapter 3

When he woke up the next morning, he was surprised to see Natasha asleep on the rug. His mind replayed the events of the night before, her soothing touches and whispered reassurances, and unless he was sorely mistaken, her genuine concern. He sighed, lifting his head up slightly. When he saw that there was no debilitating dizziness, he kept going, pulling himself up to a sitting position. He groaned loudly at the stretch of the homemade stitches in his side.

Natasha's eyes fluttered open. "Hey," she said with a shy smile.

"Hey." He smiled back.

"Fever's gone?"

"I think so."

She got up and sat next to him on the couch, placing a hand on his forehead. "Fever's gone," she confirmed.

"Thanks to you," he said cautiously.

"Here, let me make sure your wound's not infected," she said, reaching out to peel the bandage back. She wrinkled her nose. "You don't have a super human healing factor."

He laughed. "Why would I?"

"I don't know. Super soldier serum?"

He shook his head.

"So you're not the real Bucky?"

He grinned. "Not this game again. And don't you know anything about Bucky and Cap?"

She nodded. "I'll apply some more medication and change your bandage."

"Thanks," he said softly.

He fingers brushed across his skin, just under his ribs and he involuntary pulled away. "Hey, that tickles," he said.

Her head snapped up to meet his gaze, eyes wide.

"_Hey, that tickles," he said, grabbing her wrist in his hand. _

"_Oh really?" she said with a mischievous grin, reaching for him with her other hand. _

_A lock of brown hair, almost reddish in the sunlight, fell across his eyes as he tried unsuccessfully to dodge away from her. His grin was boyish as he laughed, his back arching slightly, and she threw a leg over his hips, straddling him. He howled for her to stop, although his struggling was only half-hearted… _

He frowned. "What's the matter?" He asked, his gaze searching.

"N-nothing." She shook her head. "I was just wondering if you think you could make it to the bedroom? I was thinking maybe I should take a walk to the convenience store down the road and get a few things. But I'd feel much better if there was another door between you and the outside world."

He nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I could try."

"Okay." She reached out and placed her hands firmly on his sides, holding him just under his armpits to help pull him up. He was unsteady when he rose, in turn placing his hands on her shoulders and leaning a good portion of his weight on her. She looked up at him, suddenly on high alert when she realized how close his face was to hers, so close she could feel his ragged breathing in her ear…

"Easy," she whispered as he stumbled forward. "Are you dizzy?"

"No," he whispered back, unconvincingly, and she wished she could say the same. "I'm okay," he said, more firmly.

"Okay. Let's try to walk," she managed.

He took a couple of steps and though she could see his face twist in pain every time he put more weight on his right side, he didn't say anything else after that so she kept going.

"It's just right down the hall," she coaxed, urging him forward and trying to ignore that fact that she could feel his muscles flex right under her hands. "There you go."

It didn't take long for them to reach the bedroom and she eagerly helped him settle down into the mattress, tucking him in. "Don't attempt to get out of bed until I get back," she warned.

He nodded. "I won't," he promised.

"I'll just leave a glass of water right here on the nightstand," she said, her eyes lingering on his face, unsure of what she was searching for.

"Thank you," he softly replied.


End file.
